


To Worship a Goddess

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is his forbidden goddess, and he will worship her with all he has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Worship a Goddess

Her hair is red like blood, some say, but Jon thinks it is red like the summer sun, vibrant and beautiful but dangerous to touch for fear that it may burn you. Those icy eyes, that others say will freeze a man in his place before he turns to snowy dust, are only warm when she meets Jon's gaze, like a cool breeze sent to calm him.

 _Gods_ , does he love to watch her. Sansa is a goddess. She dances like a spiraling snowflake- every motion is grace personified. Her voice will be high heaven to his dying day, same as the music she plays on the high harp that brings him near to tears with every song. Sansa exchanges pleasantries with everyone, from Wyman Manderly down to Lyanna Mormont, and never lets their rebuttals bring her down. 

She is surely a goddess, beautiful and meant to be worshiped, but something he can never touch. Sansa is his sister, _half-_ sister as she used to insist, and the thoughts he holds stay buried deep within his heart where no man or woman will ever find them. Sansa would shame him, as all their advisors and lords would, if they knew how he felt, if they knew the thousand places he wanted to kiss her. No one could know that he dreamed of making her scream his name, of making her whimper madly beneath his touches and caresses.

It would be so sweet, to feel her, but that can never be, no matter how many longing glances they share, no matter how often her hands brush his knuckles, no matter the times he has whispered praise against the holy altar of her smooth, delicate ear.

Sansa sits besides him now, decked in starkest grey, her hair a tumble of soft red down her shoulders, her crystal eyes fixed on the embroidery in her lap.  _Gods_. He should be studying his ledgers, fixing the accounts of the keep and all their armies, but all Jon can do is stare at her soft, delicate mouth.

He imagines what it tastes like, if her mouth is as warm as it look.  It does not help that she so often bites her pink lip with her white teeth in concentration. Her brow furrows to, but not in the sullen way he furrows his own. She seems oblivious to his wanton looks, but suddenly her eyes look up and meet his own.  _Gods,_ he will not last. 

"Jon, why do you gaze so long?" She asks, raising her eyebrow to a perfect arch. The minx is playing with him- she must know his heart's desire. It does not help the feeling in his pattering heart, the yearning to know her and love her like he knows he cannot.

When he does not answer, Sansa stands and walks over to him. She sets a hand on his shoulder, and with a gentle touch draws spirals along his muscles and up his neck. "Littlefinger once  told me that every man treats a woman's body like a temple, but that it is up to the man to decide if he is a reaver or a rapist, a dutiful supplicant or celebrator,  a septon or a religious fool. My husband had no gods, I'd say. But tell me Jon, how do you worship?"

Her fingers rest besides his mouth. Jon hates the torture she's brought to him, hates that he wants this unholy union to be true. Ramsay had no gods, but Jon has many.

In one swift motion, he gives into all wrong sin and temptation inside his dirty sinner's heart. He takes Sansa's fingers between his lips as he grabs her hips and pulls her across his lap. Papers from the ledgers scatter everywhere, but Jon could not care any less.

Her kiss is hungry as his own, hot and heavy against his lips. His cheeks flushed with heat and desire as she wrapped her hands against his face. Sansa was here and his, in this moment, true and real and there. Jon's hands fell to her waist, pulling her against him tight and steady.

At his desperate urging, her mouth opens and her head tilts just so. He deepens his ministrations, giving her all he has. In this moment, she is not his sister but his lover. Sansa smells like rain and sun all wrapped in one, fresh and beautiful. Her lips taste like lemon, and he is not surprised at all. 

Jon's hands wander her body, learning the curve of her back and the swell of her hip, as her own settle against his chest and curl against his shirt. When Sansa responds with a mewl to the light touch of his hand against her soft breast,  _Gods_ , he is gone, and  _Gods,_  is it good.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


End file.
